


Black and Burning

by childofthursday



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comfort, Destiel - Freeform, Hurt!Cas, M/M, Post Season 8, slow burn destiel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-09
Updated: 2013-06-23
Packaged: 2017-12-14 10:14:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/childofthursday/pseuds/childofthursday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His entire life he has been pushing down anger, doubt, fear, pain, hoping that someday he will forget they actually exist. They are still there of course, but they have become a numb presence, an awareness he cannot exterminate. But they don’t surface and that’s what matters. He taught Sam how to do it, and now he’s going to have to teach Cas, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Return

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a little something to get back into writing. I haven't written for a really long time and I thought I'd just put this out there to get some general feedback. I might leave this as a one-shot but if I get a lot of requests to continue I might do that. Nothing is certain at this point.
> 
> The rating could also go up if I decide to continue this. For now it's rated like the show.

Castiel’s eyes burn. He had forgotten to blink. He does, and two streams of salty water escape his red-rimmed eyes. Hundreds, no, thousands of Angels are falling, and he has no idea how to stop it. He failed. He failed his brothers, his sisters… But he also failed Dean. _I’m going to fix my home_. That’s what he said before he left Dean. And now their wings are burning, leaving scorching imprints into the flesh of their previously unmarked backs. Most of them have never even been to Earth. Castiel gasps when one of them crashes to the ground close enough for him to feel the soft tremble run through his legs. Because this is _his_ body now. Not an empty vessel. Without his essence, his grace… he is nothing but a soul in a body. A human soul in a human body. He feels cold, but his back feels hot. His heart is thumping loudly in his ears. It has never gone so fast before, he notices. His knees touch the ground and he didn’t even notice them buckling. He can feel the cold when his hands clasp the dirt underneath his slim fingers. He feels the strain on his muscles when he doesn’t move for a while. He feels so much, all at once, unbearable. His lungs have difficulty accepting the air he desperately tries to get in. Is this being human? In all the time he has spent with Sam and Dean, he had never truly lost his grace. He might have forgotten it for a while, but he has never truly known what it feels like to be human. Now he knows, and it _hurts_. He needs to find Dean.

After for what feels like days Castiel finally gets up and starts moving. He can’t see the bright flaming lines across the sky anymore. Somewhere – everywhere – Angels are lying down on the ground, weeping, just as broken as he is, disoriented. He refuses to think of them, only focusing on his surroundings. Several times he catches himself standing still, trying to teleport to the bunker where he knows he will find the Winchesters. He has to force himself to keep moving, to stop trying to do something he knows in his heart is impossible.

When he finds himself in a town in Colorado, he briefly feels grateful that Metatron didn’t drop him any further from Kansas, but then he remembers … well, everything, and anger fills his mind again. He will kill Metatron for this, he thinks. But first he will make him suffer. That, he promises. He vaguely hopes Metatron can hear his hate-filled prayers. The sun is already going down, almost a day having passed since he got up.

It doesn’t take him long to find a trucker willing to take him into Kansas, and a few hours later he finds himself in front of the bunker. His eyes are heavy and he hasn’t slept since he fell from heaven, just having to keep going. _Dean._ All his actions were focused on one thing: finding Dean. He had not allowed himself to stop before he found him. But now that he has made it, he doesn’t know what to do. Why is he here? What can he possibly tell Dean that will make this all better – that will fix his mistake? He trusted Metatron and had gone off on his own, just like all those times before. How will Dean ever forgive him again?

Castiel can’t remember how many times he’s cried since he left the place where he fell, but it feels like a lot. “Dean,” he says weakly. “Dean! Sam!” A little louder. Everything hurt oh Father it hurt so much and all he wants to do is drop and sleep. It has been years since he slept. He goes to the entrance of the bunker and realizes he can’t get in without teleporting. A soft whimper escapes him. With some kind of strength that remains in his body, he knocks loudly on the door. He doesn’t know what time it is, but he knows it has to be the middle of the night. _They’re asleep. They’ll never hear me_. He knocks a little louder, and when no reply comes, he slouches down in front of the bunker’s entrance, exhausted.

A few minutes pass and suddenly steps come from inside. Castiel tries to breathe in but it has become harder during the past few hours. He can’t breathe. The edges around his sight turn black slowly.

“Cas?”

“Sam,” he mumbles. “I’m sorry.” And then Sam disappears and all he sees is darkness.

 

* * *

  
  
He knows he is awake before he feels the warm pressure on his right arm.

“Dean?”

“I’m here, Cas. Open your eyes.” Castiel tries, but the light hurts his eyes. He winces visibly. He must have slept for days.

“Turn the light off, Sammy.” He hears someone move further away and then a clicking noise. “Okay, Cas. It’s okay to open them now.” He obliges because how could he ever refuse a voice that soft coming from Dean? He wonders how he’s come to earn that voice, and not his harsh one, the one he has almost always heard in the last few months (except that time when Dean told him he needed him, but he tries not to think of that awful day). Dean is sitting on a chair next to the bed he has just been sleeping on. The pressure on his arm moved when he’d opened his eyes, and he wonders where it has gone. He looks around and recognizes the room as Dean’s.

“I’ll uh… leave you guys for a minute,” Sam stammers awkwardly, but glances at Castiel before going out of the room, granting him a small smile. He should have known Sam would forgive him immediately now that Castiel has almost made the same amount of mistakes he has. Castiel expects Dean to protest when he looks back because he almost never lets Sam out of his sight, especially not to be with _him_ alone. He is surprised when Dean turns to face him again and smiles, albeit gravely.

“What happened, Cas?”

“I’m human,” he blurts, as if those words somehow answer the question. To him, they do. To him, this is all that matters right now. His back feels uncomfortable against the bed and he sits up a bit. He’s not wearing a shirt and suddenly feels very self-conscious, so he keeps the blanket draped over his shoulders and close to his chest. He tries to ignore the fact it smells like Dean. He can’t.

“I kinda figured that when Sam carried you in here fast asleep. I mean what happened with Metatron? We saw the Angels… And when we didn’t hear from you we thought you were dead.” His tone turns harsh again when he says _dead_ and Castiel flinches a bit.

 “I was tr–” Castiel’s voice breaks and he takes a breath. He digs his palms into his eyes and lets the air escape very slowly from his tight chest. Then he speaks, not moving his hands at all, keeping his voice as monotonous as he possibly can. “I was trying to get here as fast as possible. I’m sorry for failing you, Dean. Metatron lied. I – I didn’t realize. I was stupid.” He doesn’t move his hands. He feels two pairs of fingers wrap around his wrists. It’s not gentle, but it doesn’t hurt, either. He lets Dean move his arms to his sides. They stare at each other, and he sees Dean open his mouth a few times, but nothing comes out. “I couldn’t stop it,” Castiel adds, trying to hide the broken tone his voice holds. The hurt and emotions bubbling in his stomach threaten to escape. He holds it back. He already feels human enough; he can’t sound like one, too. He needs at least that.

He thinks he succeeded because Dean huffs and his lips form a thin line.

“We thought you were dead,” he repeats, eyes blank and hard.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel repeats as well. He doesn’t know what else to say. He doesn’t know what Dean wants from him. He’s just looking at him. Dean roughly gets up from his chair and walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

Sam comes in the room about an hour later, carrying a tray with food, a glass of water and a cup of hot tea. Castiel isn’t hungry. Normally that would make him happy and doubt his undeniable humanity right now if it wasn’t for the sick feeling he has. He feels like throwing up.

“How are you feeling?” Sam asks. Castiel doesn’t reply. Instead he tries to force the tea down his throat. It feels heavenly, and he takes a big gulp, burning himself in the process. He coughs loudly and Sam quickly offers him the glass of ice cold water instead. That feels heavenly too. He mentally pushes down a sob at the misplaced metaphor. After a while, he feels like he can breathe again and sees Sam sitting at the foot of his bed. They sit in silence for a few minutes until Castiel’s throat has adjusted.

 “He’s angry at me,” he says finally.

“He hasn’t left that chair in two days.”

“That response isn’t compatible with my statement,” Castiel replies, confused.

“What I’m trying to say, Cas, is that we were worried sick about you. I’ve never seen Dean like that before. He had barely said two words after the Angels fell and you disappeared until two days ago. We had just assumed… And then you showed up and it was like he was alive again. He just grabbed you and hasn’t left your side since. You scared us, Cas.”

“I –” Cas shuts up for a while until he manages, “So he’s not angry?”

“He’s _relieved_ , Cas.”

“Oh.”

“He’s just acting angry because he was worried and afraid you were gone.”

Castiel thinks about that, and he concludes it doesn’t make sense. If Dean is happy he is alive, why isn’t he showing it? He finishes his tea and doesn’t say anything anymore until Sam leaves and he falls asleep again. When he wakes up, Dean is sitting on the chair next to his bed again. It’s night, and Castiel can tell Dean is sleeping, but he doesn’t look very comfortable. Very quietly, he slips from under the covers and sees he’s only wearing underpants. He realizes that whoever undressed him must have also seen the marks on his back. He turns his head as much as he can and sees the edges of a faded black mark. His wings were too big to leave a complete silhouette, but he can clearly distinguish the feathers.

“What are you doing?” He startles at the sudden noise. Dean has woken up.

“You were sleeping. I didn’t mean to wake you,” he says quietly.

“I don’t tend to sleep for very long on this chair,” Dean replies equally as quiet. They look at each other again for a while.  “Sorry I ran out earlier,” Dean adds. “I’m not pissed off at you or whatever. Sam told me you thought I was.” He’s shifting nervously in his chair. “So what were you doing?”

Castiel sits down on the bed, knees brushing Dean’s. “My wings,” he simply states. Again Castiel tries not to break down in front of Dean. He doesn’t want to make him run away again and he knows open displays of emotion can make him uncomfortable. His answer was short and explanatory, he decides. That is good enough for now. Good enough.  

Dean reaches over and carefully puts a hand on Castiel’s shoulder, slowly pushing him to turn around. He traces the silhouettes with his fingers, giving Castiel goosebumps. His fingers trace his spine, his shoulderblades, and he feels Dean’s hands shaking almost as heavily as he is.

“Did it hurt?” Dean whispers. Castiel can’t reply for a while. He doesn’t have tears to spend anymore but he feels like crying again. Not for himself, but for what he did to his family; tears for what he did to heaven – again. Then he nods, looking at the sheets instead of at anywhere else.

Suddenly Dean grabs his shoulders and pulls him in. He completely envelops Castiel and holds him as tight as he has ever been held. “I’m here, Cas. You don’t have to hold back. I’m not going anywhere,” it sounds in his ear. He shudders, and his shoulders shake uncontrollably now. He feels his tears drop down on the hands he is using to grip Dean’s shirt with. He completely buries his face in Dean’s neck and sobs.

Once in a while a word escapes him (“my fault,” “Metatron,” “Dean,” “family,” “ _my fault_ ”) and Dean takes them all without question and turns them into the warmth he needs Cas to feel. Dean needs Cas to know he forgives him. He needs him to know he won’t leave him. He’ll never leave him. Thinking Cas was dead had left him beaten and broken and now they’re both here and he’ll never leave Cas again.

“I want to kill Metatron,” Cas finally manages. “I’ll kill him if it’s the last thing I do.”

“I know,” Dean agrees. “We’ll do it together.”

 

 

 


	2. Recovering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas drinks and Dean understands. To be honest, he’s not really sure what else they can do. They stay in the bunker for weeks, only going out for supplies when they need it. Sam’s not one hundred percent back to normal yet, Cas is depressed and he’s… well, he doesn’t have time to think of himself. Now he has two brothers to take care of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This hasn't been edited yet but I was too excited not to post it. Thanks for the comments on Chapter 1, so as requested, here's the second chapter! Hopefully the chapters will get longer as the story progresses. As always, I'd love some feedback. If you have some pointers, feel free to give me those too. As I said before, I'm only just getting back into this whole writing business and am still super rusty.

Cas drinks and Dean understands. To be honest, he’s not really sure what else they can do. They stay in the bunker for weeks, only going out for supplies when they need it. Sam’s not one hundred percent back to normal yet, Cas is depressed and he’s… well, he doesn’t have time to think of himself. Now he has two brothers to take care of. While Cas and Sam sleep, he reads. Kevin wasn’t in the bunker when they returned and he’s come to terms with the fact he’s probably gone and isn’t planning on coming back any time soon. After the Angels, Sam had passed out and he drove them back to Lebanon, coming back to an alarm blaring, lights flashing and machines whirring. Now he tries to find out why in the many books to his disposal, since Sam is not up to anything right now. There had been no sign of anything strange happening since that night, nor of Metatron being on Earth or anywhere. So he reads, hoping to find out anything in the Men of Letters’ accounts. So far, he had gotten bubkes.

He sighs and stands, stretching. He’d promised Cas they’d find Metatron and get his Grace back, but he has no idea if he can live up to that promise. It seems Cas has already given up on it, but he won’t. The clock says 11 AM and he looks back at his cup of coffee. Too early to break out the alcohol? Inwardly shrugging, he pours himself two fingers worth of whiskey.

“Got any more of that?” Cas asks from the doorway.

“There’s still some coffee left,” Dean automatically says, as he does every morning. Cas doesn’t move, and stares at Dean. His face is an open book and Dean knows he’s having a bad day, so he gives his own glass to Cas.

“Thanks.” He downs it in one go. Cas looks thin and pale and Dean’s first thought is _corpse_. He doesn’t look like Castiel the Angel anymore. He never wears his trenchcoat anymore either, instead borrowing Dean’s jeans and shirts since Sam’s are too big. He has bags under his eyes, hasn’t shaved in a while and now sports a full beard, hair a complete mess, and generally looks like a homeless bum. Cas sits down, putting his feet up the table.

“God, Cas. When’s the last time you showered? You look like Chewbacca and stink like Jabba the Hut.”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“Well since we’re all still stuck here until you and Sam are better, maybe we should do something about that.”

“I don’t think Sam’s going to get better any time soon,” Cas remarks, refilling his glass. Dean is almost _happy_ with that answer because it sounds so much like Cas. Cas, who doesn’t understand the bluntness of that reply; who doesn’t know when he needs to be a little less honest.

“I’ll think of something.”

He decides to have more coffee since Cas just took the last of the bottle, but then he gets an idea.

“Listen. Why don’t you go grab a shower and meet me back here in fifteen minutes? We need more booze, food and while we’re at it we’ll go get you some clothes of your own in the meantime. Sound good?” Cas seems to think about it and tilts his head. A pang goes through Dean’s heart, Cas’s expression reminding him too much of Castiel the Angel. He misses him. Instead of having his buddy Cas with him, he’s stuck in this alternate universe that reminds him a little too much of the place Zachariah sent him. And just like he did then, he feels alone in here.

“You always go to the store alone. Why do I need to come?” Dean tries to figure out if he’s annoyed or just curious. He can’t decide.

“Because you need to go outside some time, and I’ve decided you’re coming. Now go and get ready. I’m going to check on Sam. Fifteen minutes,” Dean reminds him loudly.

Sam is still sleeping when he carefully opens the door. It’s musty and reeks of sweat. Dean puts the coffee he brought with him on the bedside table and clears out some clothes Sam left on the floor.

“Thanks,” Sam mumbles drowsily.

“I’m going out with Cas to get supplies. We’ll be back later.” Dean takes the empty bottle of aspirin and throws it in the thrash. He’ll have to remember to pick up some more at the store.

“You’re taking Cas?”

“He needs to get out. He’s not physically ill like you are. He just needs –” He stops and realizes he doesn’t know what Cas needs. He finally ends up with, “It’s not good for him.”  

Sam sits up in his bed. “Are you okay, Dean? Because you’ve been looking after Cas, looking after me, and I’m thinking you could use some looking after yourself. At least for a little bit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Dean.” Dean had to close his eyes and take a breath for a second to calm down. Sam was using his _dad_ voice.

“Just – Just take a shower and get this stink out of the room. You and Cas are going to ruin the air down here. We’ll be back tonight.” He leaves before Sam can retort with some heartfelt shit about how he needs to think about himself. He doesn’t need that right now. He might end up listening to him, and that would help no one. He can imagine the three of them, given up, wasting away in their individual beds; other hunters finding them a few months – years from now. Death by uselessness. Huh. No thanks.

 

* * *

 

 When Castiel is two minutes late, Dean doesn’t go and look for him. After ten minutes, however, he does, and he’s not in a good mood. Cas isn’t in his room though, and he hears strong swearing coming out of the bathroom. He knocks on the door.

“Cas? You in there?”

“Dean. Come in, please.” When he’s behind closed doors and Dean can’t see what he looks like, he can almost pretend he’s hearing the old Cas again.

“What the hell? What are you doing?” he asks, looking around. There’s shaving cream everywhere on and around the sink, with the dark red color of blood mixing through.

“It appears I have never had the need to shave before now.” Castiel explains.

“Great,” Dean sighs, completely exasperated by now. Would it be so bad if he just got back into bed and worry about food tomorrow? _Yes_.

He moves over across from Castiel and starts to spread the enormous amount of shaving cream over his beard. He can feel Castiel’s stare on his eyes but he doesn’t look up from what he’s doing. He takes the razor and washes it. They don’t say anything when Dean puts his fingers under Cas’s chin to lift his face so he can reach better. They don’t say anything when Dean takes a towel and wipes away the excessive amount of shaving cream.

“There you are,” Dean jokes in an attempt to scare off the awkwardness in the air. “Was wondering where your face was.” Cas squints at him so Dean clears his throat. Well damn, if he didn’t just make it even more awkward.

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, now you know what to do. You can practice by yourself next time. Let’s go.”

Cas doesn’t look as forlorn as he did before and actually smells quite nice now. Dean could smell his own shampoo on Cas earlier but doesn’t make a comment.

When they walk outside, Cas covers his eyes from the blazing sun and Dean chuckles. This already feels much better, just being outside. They drive until they hit town and go into the first clothing store they see. Cas looks a bit lost so Dean has to steer him towards the men’s section and help him pick a size. After he tries on the first shirt, it’s too big, so Dean has to go and switch all the shirts into smaller sizes while Cas waits in the dressing room. He got so skinny, Dean thinks, he couldn’t help with a case if he wanted to. When he gets back, there is a woman hovering outside the dressing room waiting for Dean to come back.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

“I was just asking your friend the same thing but he told me I should ask you since ‘Dean’s knowledge on clothing exceeds mine’,” she laughs, mimicking Cas’s voice. Dean doesn’t like it.  With his Grace gone, he and Sam were a little surprised Cas’s voice didn’t turn into Jimmy’s. But they figured since it’s Cas’s vessel and his soul occupying Jimmy’s body, it made sense he would still have Cas’s voice. Even without the Angelic power it no longer contains.

He snaps out of his thoughts and realizes the woman was staring at him in a weird way. “We’re good, thanks,” he quickly says. Cas suddenly opens the curtain and is standing there is just his boxers. Dean blinks and tries not to stare and make Cas feel self-conscious. He just looks so _thin_. He looked a lot better before –

“Did you bring the right sizes, Dean?”

“Yeah, here.” Cas takes the clothes and turns around, but before he can walk back into his cubicle, the lady from the store makes a surprised noise.

“Wow, that’s a pretty tattoo.”

Cas’s eyes widen and Dean holds his breath. He did not think they’d have to deal with this on their first day out. He slowly turns his head to Cas, mind racing and thinking about a reply or even a joke that can make this better but Cas doesn’t get his jokes and he _can’t think of anything_.

Then Cas surprises him (and her) by bursting out laughing. He is giggling like a madman, gripping the edge of his cubicle in order not to fall down. Dean slowly lets out a breath and a small uncertain chuckle, but isn’t sure whether to laugh with Cas or try and calm him down so he doesn’t pee his pants. Once more he’s painfully reminded of ‘hippie Cas’, the version of him he is desperately trying to keep Cas from turning into. Dean’s facial expression drops and he can’t bring himself to even smile anymore. He looks at Cas who is still cackling uncontrollably, and slowly reaches over to put his hand on Cas’s wrist. The saleswoman walks away muttering something like “fucking drunks” and Cas finally quiets down. He sits down on the little stool behind him and puts his face in his hands, his laughter slowly coming to a full stop. Dean closes the curtain and stands beside him, hand now resting on his bare shoulder, thumb tracing a circular pattern on the crook of his neck. He waits.

 

* * *

 

Dean throws the bags of clothes they bought into the backseat and gets in the car where Cas is waiting for him. It took a full 30 minutes for Cas to finally move and try on the shirts and jeans. When they paid, Dean was pleasantly surprised Cas’s preference had gone to the shirts he would’ve also picked out. Now they’re on their way to a store where they have pills for Sam, alcohol for Cas, and food for Dean. What a sad bunch we are, Dean thinks.

He’s getting the aspirin for Sam when Cas wanders off. Dean doesn’t see him again until he’s at the register and Cas is waiting there for him, holding two pies – cherry and apple.

“They were the last ones. I made sure no one else got them,” Cas clarifies when Dean doesn’t say anything.

“Thanks,” he finally manages. Cas gently places the pies with all the other stuff they bought and while Dean looks for a credit card Cas comfortingly places his hand on his left shoulder blade.

How is it that at his worst moment, in the very hole Dean thought Cas could never crawl out of, he pulls something like this? An hour ago Dean’s hand had been on _his_ shoulder, making sure Cas didn’t break down; making sure Cas knew he was there.

And he doesn’t think Castiel knows how much he needs that single touch. How much he needs to have something to hold on to, in order to keep his legs from buckling so he doesn’t fall down and just gives up on everything. How much he feels like he is carrying the world, what with the Angels, Sam, Abbadon, Crowley, who somehow disappeared right after that night and didn’t leave a single clue, and now Cas.

But also how much he needs to do something and can’t stay cooped up in the Men of Letters’ bunker anymore. How much he needs to find Metatron, kill him, send all the Angels back to Heaven, lock all the demons up in Hell, and then, maybe, finally, he can stop worrying about everything for once. But he needs help.

His eyes fall on today’s paper. He quickly picks it up and says, “Also one of these. Thanks.”

“Thank you for today, Dean.” Castiel says earnestly. He reaches for the counter and picks up the bottle of whiskey they were planning on buying. “I don’t think I need this anymore.”

Dean flashes him a wide grin and replies, “Better leave it. I think I might.” Castiel tilts his head for the second time that day, and it makes Dean grin even wider.

“Why the paper?” Castiel asks when they’re back in the car.

“Because,” Dean smugly says, “I just found us a case.”  


	3. First Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean had expected that reaction, and he had prepared his reply. Don’t think about it, just go with it. He knows it’s just postponing the inevitable but he hopes it’s for the best. His entire life he has been pushing down anger, doubt, fear, pain, hoping that someday he will forget they actually exist. They are still there of course, but they have become a numb presence, an awareness he cannot exterminate. But they don’t surface and that’s what matters. He taught Sam how to do it, and now he’s going to have to teach Cas, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the lovely support from everyone! I tried to make this a bit longer.  
> I changed the rating as well to Mature because of swearing. Probably will keep going up though when Destiel happens.

Mysterious Illness Takes Sixth Victim in Orphanage. That is the title of a tiny article in the paper Dean so eagerly picked up at the store. The article is almost hidden in the issue, somewhere in a corner of page seven. Dean had noticed it while scanning through the paper at the register, but he doesn’t mention that. He doesn’t want them to know he was actively looking for a case.

“Mysterious illness?” Sam wonders. “Are you sure that’s something for us and not, say, a doctor who specializes in this kind of thing?”

“I’ve got a gut feeling,” Dean snaps. He has already gone through this conversation with Cas, who posed the exact same question earlier during the car ride home. Apparently, his gut isn’t worth a damn to these guys. Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, there’s this word that keeps popping up. _Reaching_. And screw him if he lets the voice win instead of mentally slapping it away. He’s not reaching; he’s just… nostalgic? He knows he’s longing to get back behind the wheel and start doing something meaningful again.

The longer they wait, the less able Sam and Cas will get, and eventually all three of them will end up going insane in this underground bunker. Okay, honestly, he’s only sure _he_ will go insane. Being on the road for his entire life, he can’t even think of staying in the same place longer than a year. Even when he stayed with Lisa, he felt cramped, like he was choking. He needs to get _out_.

“Listen, it’s not far from here. It’s even in Kansas. Maybe it’s worth something, maybe it’s not. If not, my bad. If it is, we’ll save a bunch of kids. So what’ll it be?” Dean challenges them.

“Fine,” Sam concedes. “Let’s go.”

They drive for an hour and end up at the orphanage the paper mentioned. It looks worn and creepy, and Dean isn’t surprised one bit this could be a haunted house. It’s an old wooden structure, the front door and walls covered with rot. He looks at it and wonders if it will collapse with them inside. The town itself is small, and there’s almost no activity at all. Sam scratches the back of his neck.

“You’d think there wouldn’t even be as many kids to get killed in a town like this.”

Dean scoffs. “Everyone’s probably at work or something? What time is it?”

“It’s 7 PM,” Castiel replies, before adding, “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Yeah, no shit. Sam, you check out the locals – if you can find any. See if you can find something out about a myth or legend or something. Probably just a salt and burn by the looks of this town. It’s giving me the creeps.”

“Sure. You and Cas off to the cops?”

“Yup. See you back here at the car in two hours.”

They part ways and Cas follows Dean. Every once in a while they see a curtain draw back but as soon as they acknowledge the person behind it, it quickly shuts again and they’re left with complete and utter silence.

“This is freakin’ weird, man,” Dean notes after the fourth person they see on their way to the police station runs inside a house as if his life depended on it.

“I agree,” Cas mumbles, looking back. “I wish I could be of more help.”

The comment was unexpected and it makes Dean stop in his tracks. “What?”

“Why were you so keen to go work a case, Dean? Especially in the condition Sam is in. In the condition _I_ am in. I’m useless. As you would put it, I am now officially a ‘baby in a trench coat’ so I don’t know why we are – I am – here,” he hisses back, startling Dean in the process. Dean recovers quickly though and rolls his eyes.

“Don’t give me that bullshit, dude. You’re fine.”

“One day.” Cas says it calmly, locking his eyes firmly with Dean’s. “One day of not sitting apathetically in my room, drinking, because I can’t stand to look in the mirror anymore unless I wish to see the burn marks on my shoulders, my arms, my back. I can see always see them, even when they’re covered. I can feel that they’re not there. I can feel a hollow space where my Grace used to be. You think that I can forget about all that just because you took me outside and I guarded a _pie_ in the store? A pie, Dean! That’s what I’m good for now. And you’d better remember it because we know how much you love pies. I’ll go pick them up for you every day, does that sound good? I’ll just – ”

“Cas!” Dean interrupts. “Calm the fuck down.” Castiel is trying to catch his breath. He seems surprised that, while starting off composed, his rant had quickly escalated into something fiercer. “Can we talk about this when we get back? I just need you to be focused on the case here… just for a little while. It’s going to be easy and we’ll head back and then we can talk about this.”

“But –”

“Please, Cas. Don’t break down on me now.” Dean takes a hesitant step forward and puts a hand on Cas’ shoulder for the second time that day. His fingers grip the fabric of Cas’ jacket tightly. He’s wearing a new one Dean got for him earlier and Dean can’t help but think it looks good on him. He looks like a hunter.

Castiel nods and Dean slaps his upper arm in response, but they don’t exchange any more words. Dean had expected that reaction, and he had prepared his reply. _Don’t think about it, just go with it._ He knows it’s just postponing the inevitable but he hopes it’s for the best. His entire life he has been pushing down anger, doubt, fear, pain, hoping that someday he will forget they actually exist. They are still there of course, but they have become a numb presence, an awareness he cannot exterminate. But they don’t surface and that’s what matters.  He taught Sam how to do it, and now he’s going to have to teach Cas, too.

 

* * *

 

The case doesn’t turn out to be a simple salt and burn, however, and by the time they realize it, they are in far too deep.

When they end up finding the journalist who wrote the article in a cell at the abandoned police station, he isn’t in much of a condition to talk anymore. A red circle at the back of his neck stands out and looks like a needle wound. They call up Sam to meet them there instead of back at the car.

“Looks like a wraith,” Sam decides, examining the body. “Remember at the mental hospital?”

“Yeah,” Dean says. “But what’s it doing here in some half-empty town?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.”

“Guys, the phone lines are dead,” Castiel yells from the counter at the front desk.

“Perfect. This is getting weirder by the second.” Dean curses loudly and scratches his chin. “Right. This is what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna knock on every goddamn door until someone opens up and explains what the hell is going on here, or I swear I’m gonna bust some doors in.”

That settles it and they split up in the same street in order to keep an eye out for each other. Cas knocks too quietly and gives up too easily, Dean scares most people into not opening their doors, so it makes sense that Sam is the one who finally succeeded in getting a young woman open her door. Dean shakes his head and mutters something about puppy dogs while they all go in.

They girl’s name ends up being Valerie. The boys immediately notice how thin she is, and Castiel wonders briefly if that is what he looks like now. He mentally tells himself to eat more. She has black greasy hair and deep brown eyes. She could have been beautiful in different circumstances, Castiel thinks. Her clothes are extremely shabby and to be honest, she reeks. As if she could read their minds, she suddenly apologizes.

“Sorry about the smell. The water’s been cut off for a while. I don’t have anything to drink either.” Her voice is raspy as if it hadn’t been used in weeks. Dean waves away her apology, and expectantly raises his eyebrows, waiting for her to talk.

“So…” Sam eventually begins when Valerie doesn’t say anything. “Can you tell us what’s happening to this town?”

“It’s the witch,” she whispers.

“A witch?” Sam questions and all three look at each other confusedly. What about the wraith?

“She cast a spell to make sure no one can leave the town. People can go in but no one ever leaves. There was a journalist a few days back. I haven’t seen him since that horrible day where he was screaming at the town border to let him out. ‘It’s impossible,’ I told him. ‘You can’t leave!’ But he wouldn’t listen. Last time I saw him he went in the police station but I never saw him come out. I heard him yell, ‘I’ll make sure someone finds me! I’m a journalist!’ You see, he hadn’t said that before then. He was typing on his phone and went inside and didn’t come out. That’s all I know and all I can tell you.”

Aside from the fact that she rambled and repeated herself a lot, they still couldn’t figure out a few things.

“The journalist has definitely been killed by a wraith,” Sam urges when they’re back outside. “So what’s the deal with not being able to leave?”

“A witch,” Castiel says. “A witch and a wraith must be working together. It’s uncommon but not unheard of. They can benefit from each other’s presence. I’m not quite sure how, though, since I’ve never come across a wraith-witch combination before. Obviously the journalist hoped to get someone’s attention by forwarding his article, something in which he succeeded, yet unfortunately he didn’t see his death coming.”

“What about the orphanage?” Dean asks, a little too happy about Cas’ sudden mood change from gloomy to active.

“It must be where they are hiding. I hear children’s brains are quite delicious to wraiths,” Cas replies monotonously and Dean gags. That is not what he wanted to hear.

“Really, dude? That’s disgusting.”

Cas shrugs. “Just what I heard when I frequented hell while working with Crowley.” Dean huffs and Sam shakes his head. Better to avoid this subject, Sam thinks.

“So why are they working together?”

“That, I don’t know. Maybe we should go ask them?”

They go back to the car to get the necessary weapons: silver for the wraith and Bobby’s witch-killing spell and potion they used last year. When they arrive at the Orphanage, the door is open. Sam and Dean share a look, they both nod, and Dean reaches for Cas. He pulls him in close, hoping the enemy doesn’t hear him.

“It’s a trap,” he mouths.

Castiel’s eyes widen in mock surprise. “I know,” he mouths back, pointing at his eyes. “I can see.”

Dean grins, gripping the silver knife tighter in his palm. The adrenaline is rushing in his veins and he remembers how he used to love this, before everything. Before Azazel, before Ruby, before Lucifer, before Angels.

Now there were three of them and instead of worrying they’d get in each other’s way, he actually feels more relaxed. He realizes he can rely on Cas again, but more importantly, he trusts Sam. Their relationship was pretty fucked up, to say the least, but after Sam’s confession at the church where they held Crowley and how utterly broken they both were after that, things got better. Being stuck inside the bunker for weeks, not having to worry about any demons, angels, or anything may have something to do with that, made Dean finally feel close to his brother again.

And Cas, well… He can’t say his trust in Cas is completely restored yet, after having gone off with Metatron. But now Cas is here and alive and… human. And Dean can try to deny it as much as he can, he’ll never admit how happy that really makes him.

 

* * *

 

Behind the door there’s a hallway with three doors and a stairway going up. They move in and encounter the wraith first. It’s a male and he’s waiting to strike at the top of the stairs. He jumps down and lands on Sam. Sam pins him down and yells for Dean, who has the knife. Dean runs forward but before he can reach Sam, the floorboards creak and break apart, leaving a gaping hole between him and Sam.

A woman has appeared in the doorway directly across from the front door.  

“Shit! Cas!” Dean throws the knife to Cas who stealthily catches it, surprising even himself. “I got her. You take him.”  Cas nods and prepares to jump while Sam is still struggling to keep the wraith down. He gets stung with the wraith’s needle and yells out in pain.

Dean pulls the paper with the spell from his jacket pocket and starts to read. The witch screams in frustration and jerks her arms forward, sending Dean flying across the room. She laughs and turns towards the flight of stairs, going up. Dean shakes his head and gets back up. He can hear faint voices yelling for help upstairs. _There are still kids here_.

Then there’s a scream, much closer now, and he sees Cas with the hilt of the knife in his hand, the knife itself buried deep into the wraith’s chest. It thrashes for a while, but its skin quickly cracks, and it goes completely limp. Sam’s bleeding from his right arm where he got stabbed.

“You okay?” Dean yells.

“I’m fine. Let’s go.”

All three of them go after the witch, who disappeared into one of the rooms. The kids’ voices are much louder now and they can clearly hear them now behind one of the second floor doors.

“Sam, you get the kids out and head back to the car. We’ll take care of her.” Sam gratefully agrees, because his arm wouldn’t let him be of much help now anyway. At least he’s not leaving Dean alone. He has Cas. They hurriedly share a hug and then Sam goes in the opposite direction.

“Where did she go?” Castiel asks, panting. Dean turns his head to the ladder leading up into the attic. “Thought so,” Cas adds gravely.

They move as quietly as possible, but chances are the witch is right there waiting for them. And they were right. They reach the top of the ladder and arrive in the most horrifyingly decorated room Dean has ever seen. The windows are painted black so no light could come through. There are candles everywhere and at the very back of the room there’s an altar with red symbols drawn on it. Blood, Dean thinks.

“You must be the Winchesters I keep hearing so much about.” She is sitting in the far right corner, legs crossed, eyes closed. Castiel opens his mouth to protest but stops when realizing Dean isn’t. She’s wearing a black long-sleeved dress and has short blonde hair, barely reaching her shoulders.  

“What’s it to you?” Dean says instead.

“I’ve been hearing so much about you. Defeating Azazel, I’ll give you that. But then! Defeating Lucifer but locking one of you two in the cage with him in the process, almost defeating the King of Hell, and yes, _almost_ closing the gates of Hell too but then… not. I’ve been dying to meet you. The biggest hunter failures I’ve heard of yet. Although, you do appear to have killed my partner here. I must say I’m surprised.”

“Failures?” Cas immediately retorts. “You must have them confused with some other hunter then, because Sam and Dean are – ”

“Cas,” Dean whispers, “She’s just trying to provoke us.”

The witch chuckles. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Hestar.”

“I’d say it was nice to meet you but, you know.” Dean smiles sweetly. Slowly, Dean reaches for Cas’s hand and grabs it. Cas stiffens in surprise a second but opens his hand when he realizes Dean is passing him the paper with the spell written on it and the potion they are supposed to throw on her. He accepts it while Hestar is distracted. “Didn’t think a witch would sink so low to actually join forces with a wraith. Must have overestimated your kind.”

The insult hits where it was supposed to, and she snarls. “The wraith was stupid. But he was here before me and I needed the ground. My ancestors were hanged at the very spot this house was built, and not too long from now, they’ll be with me again. In exchange for a little spell to keep the town’s folk from leaving so he could have free rein on his beloved kid’s brains, he brings me their blood I needed for the ritual. Win-win. And if it wasn't for that stupid journalist passing through here... When he realized he couldn't leave he started to look into things and well, we had to kill him too after that.”

The ground begins to shake at her words and the candles start to burn harder, their flames almost reaching the low ceiling. “Not too long now,” Hestar repeats, getting up to reach for the altar.

Dean can tell this is it, and he yells, “NOW!”

Cas opens the paper and begins to read the words. Dean jumps forward and knocks Hestar off her feet. She yells and mutters something under her breath. “Ah!” Dean clutches his eyes. His sight is gone and Hestar now charges for Castiel, who is still reading.

Dean turns his head, but try as he might, he still can’t see a thing. Then he gets an idea. Lunging in the direction of the altar, he knocks it over and several candles fall to the ground. The wood, dried and rotten, starts to catch fire.

“No!” Hestar screams. She turns from Castiel and starts saying words under her breath, desperately trying to keep the fire from spreading and ruining her ritual. When Cas says the final words, lights the fuse and throws it, she cries out one last time and explodes into a mixture of blood and smoke.

Cas and Dean both run out of the burning house, coughing up smoke. Sam is waiting across the street with six children, hiding behind his enormous posture. Dean laughs, casually throwing his arm over Cas’s shoulder while they walk toward Sam. “We did it, Sammy!” Behind them the house crumbles to the ground.

 

* * *

 

Dean drives while Cas tends to Sam’s wound in the Impala’s back seat on their way home.

“You know,” Sam muses, “This is the first time we had a case where we arrive and things are this bad already. We didn’t even have to do any research. The bad guys were just… there, out in the open. And everyone knew about it. What’s up with that?”

“I dunno, Sam,” Dean says from behind the wheel. “First time for everything?”

Castiel doesn’t say anything, because somehow he knows this is his fault. Instead of causing chaos in Heaven, he now caused it on Earth as well. And he _will_ fix it.


End file.
